“Oh no!” I cry.
“What’s the matter?” Holden says, dropping his sandwich into the wrapper as I tilt my head in the direction of the woman who just fell. His feet are catching up faster than he can swallow, springing out of seat toward the lady.
My smile is glued to my face as I spot the man far off in the distance, capturing every juicy second of it. I wait a full sixty seconds before I walk over.
“Are you okay?” I say.
“Yeah, better now because of this young man.”
She is batting her eyelashes and leaning into his body with pure delight written on her face.
“Do you need help inside?” Holden asks.
“No, sweetie. I think I got it from here. Got my man waiting for me inside.”
Our eyes meet each other’s at the same time, holding back a smirk as the lady limps off into the restaurant while Holden props the door open for her.
A two-minute scheme that took fifteen hundred dollars from my pocket and three days to put together was anything but simple. I just hope the payout to distribution companies will make me break even on this.
“Poor thing.” It slips out of my mouth as I paste a downturned smile in the direction of where she disappears.
When he finally removes his foot, which is propping open the door, I ask, “Do you want to keep eating or head over to the styling suite?”
He shakes his head and walks back to the table. He takes two aggressively large bites into the sandwich before dumping it inthe trash can. He heads back toward me, still rooted in the same spot where he left me.
“We can go now.”
He tightens his grip on my hand, which is open for him, as we stride toward the direction of our appointment. Nobody is around to see the way his hands envelop mine with such ease. How we synchronize our stride as we walk in the direction of where we need to go.
How easily we slip into this role.
We do this for fifteen minutes until it hits me that we have walked up and down the same street several times.
“Is this it?”
We break apart for the first time in the whole walk, individually holding up our phones and staring at the location we were sent on the map. Our maps are tilted in different directions, unable to get a clear read to the pinned location.
“Right here!”
An accordion-looking barrier is pulled open as a stylish blonde woman stands in front of us, waving us over.
“Rebecca?” I holler as I walk up the stairs to the suite. She gives a clipped “yes” as she rushes us in and locks the door behind her. Anticipating the space to be gritty with an overinflatedreputation, Holden and I walk into a prestige room of creams, beiges, and bright lights. Racks of clothes are lined up in the middle of the room. The back wall is reserved for individual dressing rooms that are spacious.
Holden grabs the offered champagne sitting on a tray and heads straight for the cream chair sitting outside our dressing room, his last name printed on the wall next to the curtains.
“Do you want one, miss?” The styling assistant asks.
I nod and grab the flute of champagne from him.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, taking a large gulp.
I glide my fingertips over the different textures of fabric before heading to the chairs that have been set up outside the dressing room.
Rebecca is dressed head to toe in all black, with her hair in an asymmetrical blonde bob. In the mirror, I see only the frizz that has poofed up my hair from walking for the last fifteen minutes in the blazing sun.
My idea of “effortless” is a tank top and denim shorts. Rebecca is wearing pure silk and tailored pants that are custom-made for her elongated torso and even longer legs.
My eyes widen, taking in every aspect of this room. A space that was so elusive that I had to reach out to five different contactstill I landed on a coworker’s best friend’s mom who’s married to another woman who owns this place.
